


Dress Rehearsal

by WastingYourGum



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M, WIP
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-11-24
Updated: 2016-07-16
Packaged: 2018-02-26 21:02:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,416
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2666258
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WastingYourGum/pseuds/WastingYourGum
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock needs someone to act as his Sugar Daddy at a posh party for a case - or that's what he tells Lestrade. What he <em>really</em> needs is to see Lestrade in some expensive clothes... and then hopefully <em>out</em> of some expensive clothes...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on [my Tumblr](http://wastingyourgum.tumblr.com/post/99992402663/for-loryisunabletosupinate-based-on-this-and) \- based on [this](http://loryisunabletosupinate.tumblr.com/post/80642465140/i-want-fake-relationship-sherstrade-where-sherlock) (and then I also saw [this](http://loryisunabletosupinate.tumblr.com/post/99953456278/soyeahso-loryisunabletosupinate-klokoween) after I’d written it!)

"Act as your boyfriend at a swanky society do?" Lestrade said. "Can’t exactly see John being up for that." He took a large swig of the tea he’d helped himself to.

"Actually I was hoping you would do it."

Only Sherlock’s sharp reflexes meant he saved most of his experiment being contaminated by the fine spray of Tetley, milk and sugar that issued from Lestrade’s mouth.

 Lestrade wiped his chin on the sleeve of his coat. “You _what_?”

"John is an appalling actor while you have been undercover on several occasions with moderate plausibility. Also he’s completely - one would almost say _defensively_ \- heterosexual, whereas you, being bisexual, would be able to engage in public displays of affection with another man more convincingly.”

"Sherlock, no-one in their right mind would look at you and me and think we’re a couple."

"Why not?"

"Look at you! You’re…." Lestrade waved his hand up and down, gesturing to Sherlock’s entirety. " _You_.”

"Are you suggesting _I_ would not be believable?”

"No, you pillock. Of course you would be, I know that. It’s not you. It’s you and me. No-one’s going to look at _me_ and think I could possibly pull someone like _you_.”

Sometimes Lestrade’s obtuseness was particularly grating. Lestrade could “pull” him with only the merest movement of an eyebrow if he really wanted to - it was making him want to that was the trick.

_First stage: dismantle all the DI’s objections._

"Why not?"

"For a kick-off, I’m way too old for you. You need to find someone more your own age."

_Easily handled._ “Actually it’s your age that gives us the advantage.”

"How so?"

_Introduce the cover story…_

"I’m most likely to attract the attention of the person I’m after if I’m acting the part of a gold-digger - which of course means I need a sugar daddy."

"A sugar…" Lestrade stared at him then very slowly put his mug down and rubbed his face with both hands. "Sherlock. I’m not exactly skint but I’m hardly rolling in it either. I can’t afford to get dressed up to the nines and start flashing the cash about just for… whatever this is you’re up to."

_And then take away the monetary concerns…_ “You wouldn’t have to.”

"How come?"

"It’s my case so it would only be fair if I funded any expenses - or, more accurately, my brother did. Technically it’s more his case."

The case in question being _The Adventure of the Obliviously Attractive Detective Inspector_ \- but Lestrade didn’t need to know that.

"Oh God - if this is some shady MI5 thing…"

"No, it’s a personal matter." Which was true enough - Mycroft would be personally delighted to have Sherlock owe him a favour - and Sherlock knew damn well that despite his stand-offishness, Mycroft would be just as aesthetically pleased to see a buffed and polished Lestrade as he would be, though for different reasons. Mycroft appreciated things from a distance - Sherlock was planning on a more _hands-on_ approach.

"It’s very simple, Lestrade, I’ll give you the addresses of a few places. You go to them, let them get you suited and booted and then meet me there. You won’t have to lift a finger or pay a penny…. OK, you _may_ have a to lift a finger for the manicure but that’s about it.”

"Manicure?"

"Well of course - your nails are terrible. Although at least the nicotine stains have worn off now you’re back on the patches."

"OK, but even if you get me all dressed up I’m still _me_ underneath it.”

Sherlock certainly hoped he’d get the chance to verify that. “And?”

"I— I wouldn’t know how to act. I’m not… I mean I wasn’t brought up…"

"Ah. You’re right - you’re far too polite and well-mannered to pass for old money. So if anyone asks, you tell them you’re in the import/export business and smile at them like you’re about to arrest them. There will be several other recently made millionaires there so you’ll be fine."

"Well…"

_Oh for God’s sake, just say ‘yes’!_ Sherlock’s knuckles went white as he tightened his grip on the tongs he was holding.

"OK - I suppose so…"

_YES!_

"Unless I get a call of course."

"Of course."

He wouldn’t - Mycroft had promised to take care of that too…

 

* * *

 

Three days later and Sherlock was nervously toying with his almost empty glass as he waited between the entrance foyer and the main reception room. Mycroft would have let him know if Lestrade had backed out at the last minute but there’d been no word so he _must_ be on his way…

"Can I fill that up for you?" A tall, handsome blond appeared at his elbow.

"No thanks. I’m waiting for someone."

"Really?"

"Mmmm - and he’s quite the jealous type so you might want to…" Sherlock’s voice faltered as his jaw dropped open.

Lestrade had just stepped through the door - and Sherlock’s conversation wasn’t the only one that had been momentarily halted.

He looked… good. _Mouth-wateringly_ good. _Obscenely_ good, in fact.

His suit was immaculately tailored to show off his broad shoulders and strong legs. His hair had been trimmed but left long enough on top to style into messy “just-fucked” spikes and instead of being completely clean-shaven he had just enough stubble to look thoroughly disreputable.

Sherlock took in the whole picture and came to two conclusions: One; he’d be damned if he didn’t have Lestrade out of that suit and fucking him into the mattress by the end of the night and two; he was going to owe Mycroft one _hell_ of a big favour…

The blond turned to look at what had distracted Sherlock and then whistled softly but appreciatively. “Hello, Daddy…”

Sherlock threw back the last of his champagne, snarled “Don’t even think about it,” and strode towards the door. He ignored the amused “Sure _he’s_ the jealous one?” from behind him.

Lestrade tugged at his cuffs and adjusted his bow tie before accepting a glass from an attendant. He took a sip as he scanned the room, lowering the glass again to smile in recognition as he spotted Sherlock heading towards him.

"Hello, gorgeous." Lestrade slid his free hand possessively around Sherlock’s waist and kissed him lightly on the cheek.

_It’s an act… He’s acting…_ Sherlock’s brain screamed at him. _You still need to convince him to go for it for real… DO NOT SCREW THIS UP!_

Sherlock leaned in close to whisper, “I could say the same. Remind me to send my compliments to Mycroft’s tailor.”

“‘S’not bad, is it?” Lestrade grinned.

"Just needs one final detail… Come here a minute." Sherlock pulled Lestrade with him over to one side and they ducked into a deserted stairwell.

Sherlock held out his hand. “Watch.”

Lestrade looked at Sherlock’s palm expectantly. Sherlock sighed.

"No, not… Give me your _watch_ , Lestrade.”

"Oh!" Lestrade took his watch off and placed it in Sherlock’s hand, Sherlock pocketed it and took out another watch from another pocket.

Lestrade’s eyes nearly came out of their sockets. “Bloody hell! Are those diamonds?”

"No, they’re fakes - as is the watch itself - but no-one will be able to tell that unless you let them examine it with a magnifying glass."

"Oh, thank god for that."

And now Lestrade would happily not worry about the watch for the rest of the night - which would give off the correct air of not caring that he was _actually_ wearing something that cost about ten times his annual salary.

Sherlock would tell him later.

Probably.

He offered Lestrade his arm.

"Shall we?"


	2. Chapter 2

"Shall we?"

Lestrade took Sherlock's arm but looped it through his. "We shall - but remember who's hanging on to who here."

"Of course. Don't forget your glass." Sherlock nodded to where Lestrade's champagne flute was precariously balanced on the level section of the banister.

"Don't let me have too much of this," Lestrade said, picking it up. "Champers makes me giggly."

"Drink it a lot, do you?" Sherlock asked as they exited the stairwell back into the corridor.

"No - because it makes me giggly."

 _A giggly Greg - now wouldn't that be a sight to see_ , thought Sherlock.

They strolled back into the main ballroom arm in arm and found a spot by the wall with a good view of the room. Lestrade took a sip of his drink and glanced around with what to the casual observer would appear to be a vaguely bored expression.

Sherlock, who always observed and never casually, could see him mentally cataloguing the other patrons. Lestrade didn't have Sherlock's gift for deduction but Sherlock knew he had a trained eye for details. Give him ten minutes in a room this size and he'd be able to describe the rough appearance of everyone in it with some degree of accuracy.

"Fancy a dance?"

It was such an unexpected question it took Sherlock a moment to realise it was directed at him.

"Dance?"

"Yeah, y'know - moving rhythmically in time to music. I hear all the young 'uns are doing it these days." Lestrade grinned. "Plus it'll let us get a better look at the room."

Sherlock weighed up the risk of forgetting himself entirely against the risk of missing out on a golden opportunity not only to dance but to dance with Lestrade.

He let out a long-suffering sigh. "If we must. It will also help to ensure we're noticed by more people."

"Especially the way I dance!" Lestrade joked.

"It's a waltz, Lestrade. Even your flat feet should be able to manage it."

"Just for that I'm going to tread on your toes every chance I get."

Lestrade took Sherlock's glass and set it down along with his on a nearby table.

Being noticed was hardly going to be an issue judging by the number of admiring glances being thrown Lestrade's way. Sherlock had already started doubting his plan - far too many people were now aware how good Lestrade looked and yet Lestrade still seemed not to be one of them. Was he really so unaware of his own presence or was it that he simply didn't care? What could make someone so obtuse when it came to their own effect on others? Was he perhaps--

His train of thought was completely derailed by Lestrade's large warm hand landing in the small of his back and tugging Sherlock's body towards his as he took his hand.

"Don't look so worried, you muppet. I'm actually not that bad of a dancer."

Sherlock had no data on Lestrade's dancing skills with which to corroborate that statement. What he had was a sudden stricken panic that he was going to get an erection which Lestrade could not fail to notice.

He took a deep breath, placed his free hand on Lestrade's shoulder and they set off.

Lestrade was, as it turned out, surprisingly graceful. Sherlock let some of the tension in his back dissipate and eased into the music as Lestrade gently but firmly guided him across the dancefloor.

Lestrade smiled as he felt Sherlock relax. "See? Not so bad."

"Hardly Fred Astaire - but you're passably competent."

"Coming from you, I'll take that as a compliment. Anyway, I always preferred Gene Kelly myself."

Sherlock couldn't help but smile at that - so did he, if truth be told.

"Right - so who are we after again?" Lestrade asked.

"I don't know. We'll have to wait for him to make himself known."

"But it's definitely a bloke?"

"Yes."

"Anything else? Got a rough age?"

"Probability suggests somewhere between 25 and 40."

"Which only rules out me, the bloke by the bar with the red tie and a few of the staff. Ok, so how do we identify him?"

"We don't. I do. He'll only make his move if I first make myself a target and then give him an opportunity to take me out."

"You know I don't like plans where you're the bait. Remember Norbury?"

Sherlock sniffed. "I was only mildly concussed." And Lestrade had been more than mildly concerned, which had somehow made the nausea almost worth it.

Lestrade brought them to an abrupt halt. "You were nearly decapitated!" he hissed. His brows were lowered and there was a deep furrow between them. It was very endearing.

Sherlock leaned towards Lestrade, draped himself over the policeman's broad shoulders and whispered, "I promise I have no intention of losing my head tonight. Now, smile as though I've promised to do something filthy to you to cheer you up. People are watching."

Lestrade's frown vanished and he grinned. "I'd love to hear the _actual_ promise - just to find out what _you_ consider filthy. Kissing with tongues?"

"Be careful what you wish for, Lestrade. I'm hardly a blushing virgin - and I can do things with my tongue that would make you _whimper_."

Lestrade swallowed audibly as his face flushed a glorious shade of scarlet. "Steady on, mate."

"I aim for perfection in _all_ areas that interest me, Lestrade. You know that. Why should sexual intercourse be any different?"

"Didn't think you _were_ interested in that area."

Sherlock leaned back, one eyebrow arched in bemusement.. "Of course I am - how can I understand crimes of passion without experiencing it myself?"

"Passion's not just about sex though," Lestrade countered. "It's…"

"What?"

"I dunno - it's wanting _all_ of somebody, not just their body."

"Yes…" Sherlock leaned closer again.

"It's feeling like… like you need that other person just so you can breathe…"

"Yes." _God, he has such a beautiful mouth..._

"Like... "

"Yes." Sherlock was so close, he was practically breathing the same air as Lestrade now.

"...Sherlock."

"Yes?"

"There's no case, is there?"

"What?" Sherlock jerked his head back so there was more than the molecule of air between them there had been moments before.

"There's no case. You haven't taken your eyes off me for five minutes now. You'd never do that if you were genuinely looking for someone."

"I…"

Lestrade's hands dropped to his sides. Sherlock felt the loss of contact like a burn on his skin.

"What's really going on?" Lestrade asked.

"I told you, I'm looking into a case for Mycroft and…"

"No. You're not - but I'm blowed if I can think of another reason you'd get me here in this get-up."

"Really. Can't think of a single one?"

Lestrade frowned. "Bet? Practical joke? If so it's more at your expense than mine the amount this suit cost."

"It was worth every penny."

"For what?"

"To see you in it."

Lestrade blinked.

"More accurately, so you could see you in it, " Sherlock continued. "And then…" He took a deep breath and plunged ahead. "So I could maybe see you out of it."

Lestrade blinked a few more times.

An icy fist gripped Sherlock's stomach. He'd fucked it up. He'd completely fucked it up and Lestrade was never going to speak to him again.

"Lestrade…"

Lestrade held up a stubby finger and for once, Sherlock instantly hushed.

Lestrade glanced around. Sherlock followed his gaze. A few people were looking at them but most were carrying on, somehow unaware that Sherlock's entire world had just crashed into oblivion.

Still without saying a word, Lestrade grabbed Sherlock's sleeve above the wrist. He pulled him through the people standing by the edge of the dance floor, through a set of open doors and out into a large inner garden courtyard. An amused ripple of conversation followed them as the bystanders made assumptions of a lover's spat.

Lestrade headed for one of the further away corners where they could be out of sight from the doors, hidden by artful statues and well tended topiary. He came to a sudden halt and spun to face Sherlock who waited for the axe to fall...


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Birthday, Lory! :)

Lestrade dropped his hold on Sherlock's sleeve and ran both hands through his hair, clutching his head in a pose Sherlock knew all too well as "I have totally had it with your shit today, Sherlock."

Sherlock adjusted his cuffs and studied the patterns in the gravel path at his feet, unwilling to make eye contact but acutely aware that Lestrade hadn't taken his eyes off him since he'd turned round.

"You… You...."

Lestrade was searching for the worst word in his vocabulary - and Sherlock knew it to be remarkably extensive in the realm of insults and expletives.

"...total _prat_."

Sherlock's head jerked up. That was a lot milder than he'd expected.

"C'mere."

And then Lestrade's hand slipped round the back of his neck and his fingers slid up into the curls at Sherlock's nape and his mouth was on Sherlock's mouth and his other hand resumed its former position on Sherlock's back and _his mouth was on Sherlock's mouth_ and his lips were so soft and just a little bit open and Sherlock needed to taste him _right the fuck now_...

He threw his arms around Lestrade's torso, making him gasp a small huff of air right into Sherlock's mouth which he greedily swallowed.

Lestrade smiled against his lips and brought his hands up to cup Sherlock's face as he pulled back to catch his breath. "Easy."

"S-sorry, I..."

"Shutting up when he's told, best kiss I've had in ages and now an honest to god apology," Lestrade said. His voice was warm and amused. "You feeling alright?"

"Very much so," Sherlock assured him.

"So this whole thing was a set-up? The suit, the haircut, the fictitious case - everything?"

"Yes," Sherlock admitted. "It's a genuine party but the only person I'm looking for here is you."

"Why'd you go to all this pretense though? Why not just tell me you were interested?"

"You wouldn't have believed me. I can't just tell you things, I have to prove them. You always want evidence," Sherlock huffed.

"Oh no, no pouting - or I'm going to have to do things to that bottom lip." Lestrade brushed his thumb across the offending body part. "Anyway, you know that's not true - I take you at your word more often than is probably good for either of us."

"Yes, but I've seen so many other people try to let you know they find you attractive and you either completely fail to notice or dismiss it because you assume they want something. You never consider the most obvious solution which is that the thing they want is _you_. You have no idea how attractive you are. I wanted to prove that to you first because if you accept the wealth of empirical data that proves that you are attractive in general then it will be easier for you to accept the _specific_ case that I personally find you attractive."

"Ok, now you sound more like the Sherlock I know and love."

"What?"

Lestrade cleared his throat and glanced down. "That I know and... love. Always have done."

He looked up without lifting his head to meet Sherlock's eyes through his long lashes and Sherlock _had_ to raise his chin and kiss him again.

When they stopped for their next breath Lestrade told him, "Well, if your plan for tonight was to make me feel good about myself, I'd say you're succeeding - with bells on."

"It was part one of the plan."

"And part two?"

"Convince you that I find you attractive, as I said."

"Since you haven't taken your hands off my arse for five minutes I think we can safely tick that one off the list as well. Part three?"

"Rather involved us being somewhere more private. I… I have a room booked upstairs."

Lestrade chuckled. "Pretty confident of your charms, weren't you?"

"Not at all - but I saw no reason not to be prepared for every eventuality."

"Can we get there without having to go back through the party?"

Sherlock took a step back and surveyed their surroundings, plotting routes through his mental map of the place. "Yes, I think so but.."

"But what?"

"I… might have to open one of the other doors in this courtyard that is not _technically_ already open at this time."

Lestrade shook his head. "Party it is then. I think lock-picking is more of a second date activity, don't you?"

Sherlock groaned. He really didn't want to have to push his way through all those people with them all giving him and Lestrade knowing glances…

Scratch that. He _absolutely_ wanted to drag Lestrade through that room and for everyone there to know that this gorgeous man was his and exactly what they were going to do to each other…

"If you insist." He grabbed Lestrade's hand and started his triumphal march to the stairs...


End file.
